


She Did

by Batsymomma11



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Dark, Date Rape Drug/Roofies, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Implied Sexual Content, Multi, Past Child Abuse, Rape/Non-con Elements, Triggers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-09
Updated: 2018-10-09
Packaged: 2019-07-28 18:07:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16247027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Batsymomma11/pseuds/Batsymomma11
Summary: "She wouldn’t have—she couldn’t have done that to him—she did, she did, she did, shedidshedidshedid—"Bruce experiences the morning after his date rape with Talia.





	She Did

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING--This fic focuses on the morning after someone has just been date raped. Although it is not explicit, it will likely have triggers for anyone who is sensitive to this. Please don't read this fic if that is you. 
> 
> I do not own DC or its characters. I do own this story. Not all of the details are canon and I morphed a couple things to suit the story I wanted. Thanks for reading!

                It was like swimming through thick cream with his mind.

                He remembered a drink—Scotch? Whiskey? Malt? His mouth tasted like week old pennies and was painfully dry, not a drop of moisture left. Bruce sat up in the sweat-damp sheets, felt his head spin and then collapsed back into the pillows.

                He was going to be sick.

                He needed a toilet or a bowl, something.

                Sliding out of the bed like molasses from the edge of a barrel, Bruce hit the carpeting hard and groaned softly into the Berber.

                He didn’t make it to the bathroom.

                Bruce retched the minute he pushed to all fours to attempt crawling to the bathroom and the acid burned his throat raw. There was nothing to be done about it. He’d just have to pay to get it cleaned. Sluggish and disoriented, Bruce sat back onto his haunches and tried to take in the room. The room he was in. But everything in his body felt disconnected and blurry. He felt like he couldn’t turn his head without toppling over, so he sat still for a few breaths, cataloging the abnormal sensations in his body.

                He was sticky with sweat. Itchy. His skin felt so itchy he couldn’t stop himself from reaching a hand to his stomach to scratch at it.

                Everything felt tight and dirty and hot.

                Naked. He was naked. Not a stitch of clothing on him.

                The air in the room was cooler. Air conditioned. The room smelled like old cleaner and stale cigarettes. The carpet was stiff and rough against his knees.

                Hotel. He was in a hotel room. A cheap hotel room that Bruce Wayne wouldn’t be caught dead in because it was so seedy. He wasn’t here as himself then. Or at least, not likely. But Batman wouldn’t have met in a hotel either, least of all naked. He wouldn’t have come here and not had a plan—he wouldn’t have—

                A face shimmered in his mind. Black hair, long and silken, brushing over his chest like tantalizing fingers. Eyes, green and catlike, sharp on his. Cunning. Skin, like bronzed metal, soft and feminine and cruel as it touched him. As it—

                Bruce’s eyes jerked open and he gasped softly, the hand scratching idly at his stomach clenching into a fist. Blood rushed in the shell of his ears, his heart skipped hard against his ribs.

                “Talia.”

                Her name was a curse on his tongue. A word that shouldn’t have made him want to curl into himself and start clawing at every part she touched, but it was there. It was just beneath the surface of dizzying images suddenly rushing back.

                A drink, scotch. He’d had scotch and she’d poured the drink.

                He’d met her as himself, but on the sly. She’d said it was important and had insisted on keeping their meeting confidential which of course, at the time, he’d understood. She was Talia al Ghul. The daughter of Raz, leader to the League of Assassins. Of course, she wanted everything she did to be confidential. And they’d been lovers once, a long distant memory ago. They’d—

                Bruce swallowed down the bile viciously as it threatened to come up again and again. He just needed to—he just needed to breathe through it. It wasn’t—he wasn’t—she didn’t—

                Yes.

                Yes, God, she did. She did, she did, she did, she did—

                “Master Bruce?”

                There was a voice coming from a pair of slacks on the floor by the bathroom. A hazy blue glow leaking out of the pocket into the darkness of the room. It was dark enough Bruce thought it might already be afternoon outside the drawn blinds. The fact that no hotel staff had come to kick him out, was likely because Talia had paid for them not to.

                Had they known—

                No. No, that hadn’t really happened. He was mis-remembering. The pictures in his head—were not—were—No.

                Twitching like a junkie coming off of a bender, Bruce crawled to the slacks and fished out the communicator. Grabbing onto it with trembling fingers, he pushed the screen to his face and tried to make words come out of his mouth. He sounded garbled and drunk.

                “Alf-f-fred.”

                “Master Bruce?”

                “N-n-need pick u-up.”

                There was a pause, the hiss of breath and papers and then shuffling dress shoes. _Hurry—I can’t—I need—help—_ “Alf-f-fred?”

                “Yes, Master Bruce. Securing your location now and sending backup.”

                “C-Clark?”

                “Yes.”

                “G-g-g-ood.”

                “Sit tight Master Bruce.”

                Bruce flicked off the communicator, then started trying to get dressed. His muscles didn’t want to cooperate, and he fumbled over and over trying to force his legs into the proper holes of the slacks. Trying to button them. Trying to just pull on the white undershirt that was supposed to go beneath the gray button down he could see was torn almost cleanly in half. 

                He looked away from it, ignoring it altogether, as he managed to get to his feet after swaying wildly for several frightening seconds. He hadn’t the slightest idea where his shoes were. The tap on the door was the only indication Clark was there. Then he was slipping inside, looking like—Clark. Not Superman.

                Bruce frowned, swayed and then caught himself on the wall.

                “What—are you---d-d-doing?”

                Clark smiled, bright and unassuming and not the least bit unsettled by finding Bruce haphazardly dressed with his slacks hanging open and his shirt still bunch up in the back. “You called. I came. That’s how it goes, right?”

                “Y-yeah. No, Su-Superm-man?”

                Clark frowned, “No. Less obvious. Are you drugged?”

                “Y-yes.”

                With what exactly, Bruce would have to do a few tests in the cave to confirm. It was likely just an average cocktail of Rohypnol. But Talia was also creative and would want to leave nothing to chance so she likely—no—that didn’t happen—he wasn’t a vic—no.

                “Jeez. Must have done a number on you. You look awful.”

                Clark stepped forward, grasped Bruce by the shoulders and Bruce’s legs gave out. It should have been a graceless fall to the floor. But Clark caught him easily and was frowning down into his face with an odd look on his mouth. His brows were so lowered Bruce could barely make out the blue of his eyes.

                “W-w-what?”

                “Bruce—”

                He saw it. He could see it in Clark’s eyes. The slight dilation to his pupils as his mouth opened to ask the next question. A question that would probably sound benign, like, ‘what happened?’ but wouldn’t be benign at all. Because Clark wasn’t the average man. Not by any measure. He could _see_ more, _smell_ more, _feel_ more and whatever those sense were telling Clark, Bruce didn’t want to see the same picture.

                He couldn’t. He couldn’t— _she did, she did, she did, shedidshedidshedid—_

“Bruce,” Clark shook him a little and he lolled his head back to the man holding him.

                “Y-yeah?”

                “Do you need anything else from here? Have a bag or something?”

                “I—” he couldn’t remember for sure. He didn’t think so. “N-no.”

                “OK.”

                One word, a thousand meanings. A thousand underlying meanings.

                They said nothing to each other on the flight back to the manor and nothing still when Clark deposited a much more in control of himself Bruce into his bathroom to shower and change. When Bruce came out of the bathroom in a cloud of steam and fresh clothes, he could walk without falling over and had a better handle on his emotions.

                He didn’t need to think about what happened in the hotel room with Talia because it wasn’t as if _it_ hadn’t happened before. They’d been lovers once upon a time and even drugged, he’d probably have wanted her. That meant that everything was fine. Everything was just—

                “Bruce, what happened?”

                Bruce stiffened when he saw that Clark hadn’t left yet and was sitting at his desk, patiently waiting with those stupid boy scout eyes wide and worried on him.

                “What do you mean Clark?”

                Clark’s brow wrinkled, “Bruce, don’t push me out.”

                “Clark,” Bruce ground out, sinking onto the edge of his mattress, squinting his eyes against the too bright light of the bedroom. His head was throbbing adamantly to the tune of his heartbeat. He felt like he was still hungover. “I don’t want to talk right now. You should go home. Thanks for coming to get me. I needed the help and you delivered. But I want you to—”

                “Talia.”

                A shiver crept over Bruce’s legs and spine till it made his shoulders pinch together and he swallowed convulsively, “Clark—”

                “I could smell her on you. Everywhere on you.”

                _“Beloved, oh Beloved how I’ve wanted you—"_

                Bruce’s eyes slammed shut and he worked to get a breath in through his lungs but it wasn’t happening easily. It felt like trying to breathe through a straw. Clark couldn’t be here for this and he certainly couldn’t be asking the questions that Bruce didn’t want answered.

                “Clark, I don’t want to hear about how your alien powers made it so you could ‘smell’ who I was with. Besides the fact, it’s none of your business.”

                “You told me you’d never sleep with her again.”

                Acid burned up the back of his throat and Bruce nodded slowly, eyes still closed, blocking Clark out. “That’s right.”

                “You slept with her.”

                _She wouldn’t have—she couldn’t have done that to him—she did, she did, she did, shedidshedidshedid—_

Bruce sucked in a breath as the image of Talia leaning over him, rubbing her breasts on his chest, raking her nails down his skin, arching and moaning as she sat on top of him, made every hair on his body stand on end. He didn’t remember—he didn’t say y—she wouldn’t have done that without him saying—

                “Bruce, talk to me.”

                “I-can’t—I can’t—” Bruce started speaking in a rush, as panic clawed up his throat, “I can’t breathe.”

                “Bruce,” Clark was in front of him, kneeling at the bed, holding both sides of his head sandwiched between big warm hands, “Take a breath. Breathe with me. It’s alright.”

                “I can’t—”

                “You can, breathe. Breathe with me. It’s alright.”

                “She—she wouldn’t have. It wasn’t like that. It couldn’t have happened like that—I wouldn’t have let it—”

                “B—”

                “No,” Bruce rasped, shaking his head, grabbing Clark’s wrists with brutal force, “No, she wouldn’t have done that. It wasn’t like that between us. We used to be lovers. I could have stopped her—if I really wanted to. I must not have wanted to—because I was—I wasn’t all in my head.”

                “Bruce listen to yourself. You were drugged. How could you have said yes?”

                “I—I had to have—I—”

                “No,” Clark whispered, and the silence that followed the singular word felt impossibly heavy. Bruce worked to calm his breathing, grounding himself using Clark’s hands as a focal point, but the more he calmed, the more he _saw_ , and he felt sick to his stomach.

                Talia had _used_ him.

                She’d _drugged_ him. Taken. Stolen—she’d—No. He wouldn’t use that word. He didn’t like that word in relation to himself. He wasn’t the victim. Not ever again. He’d been one before, with his parents’ murder. Then with his Uncle Phillip. He knew what that was like. This wasn’t the same. This wasn’t.

                “Bruce, I’m sorry.”

                Bruce’s head jerked up and he focused weakly on Clark. “For what? Nothing happened. This—this never happened.”

                “You can’t say that.”

                “Yes, I can. It never happened.”

                “Bruce, please, don’t do this, let me help you—”

                Bruce pulled away from Clark and crumpled onto the mattress, giving Clark his back. “No one can help me, Clark. It’s fine. Everything is fine.”

                “B…”

                “Nothing happened.”

                Clark sighed, reaching a hand to Bruce’s back to smooth a palm over his bowed spine. “Fine.”

                “Good.”

                They sat silent until Bruce thought Clark would give up and leave but he didn’t. Clark remained steadfast and stubborn. His presence a comforting totem even though Bruce knew the man wasn’t going to let this go. Even though deep beneath the recesses of his denial, he understood that Clark was right. That nothing was fine and that it did happen. Talia had hurt him. Talia had hurt him deeply and he didn’t know how to make it better.

                “Bruce?”

                “What?”

                “You want me to stay tonight?”

                Bruce sighed, gripping the pillow he was lying on so hard his knuckles whitened. “If you think you should.”

                “OK, I think I should.”

                “Fine,” Bruce snapped, but it was whispered.

                “Fine.”

                Clark stayed in Bruce’s room. He said nothing when in the middle of the night Bruce still hadn’t fallen asleep and started crying silently into the cotton of his pillow case to stifle the noise. He only put a hand on his shoulder and remained.

                It was what Bruce hadn’t realized he needed. Just someone to remain with him.

               


End file.
